


Stopwatch

by MountainRose



Series: Perspectives [4]
Category: Iron Man (Comic), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Grief, Mourning, Post Civil War, fobwatch feels, post Tony Stark: Director of SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:19:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a watch that doesn't keep time in Tony's house. <br/>Just one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stopwatch

There's a watch in the back of a cabinet, out of sight, in the penthouse.

Tony didn't put it there, it was just... there. It was always just there. JARVIS, probably, Pepper maybe. But then, she hadn't been there when, in the oil and smoke and destruction after Jarvis died, Tony had first _used_ it.

See, when his parents died, Tony didn't cry. Not because he was hard, 'made of iron', but because his Jarvis was standing there, a hand on his shoulder, and there would be cocoa when they got home, even though Tony was too old for that and would throw a bit of Irish in it, the first time Jarvis turned his back.

But when Jarvis died, Tony hadn't even made it to the funeral, the driver had asked him if he wanted to wait, go round the block a few times, but the sobbing didn't stop. At least it was a small funeral, and no one tried to send him away.

Later, he'd buried himself in code and the desperate broken loneliness of grieving for the one person who had ever touched him, ever held him steady.

But JARVIS could never be Jarvis.

When the code came online, and JARVIS woke up, that first shining moment, when the camera turned to face Tony, when the voice cracked out of salvaged home theater speakers, Tony cracked, right down the middle.

Because Jarvis was dead.

And that was it. No matter how much of Jarvis' voice they'd had on tape, no matter how many ridiculous little protocols and emulations and empathy dumps Tony had developed, inserted and wished and prayed and sacrificed--

Jarvis was dead.

And the person in the servers? That was a stranger. A crushingly naive, kind, confused _person_. And they were afraid, and Tony hated himself, so much, for programing anything that could feel what he was feeling right then, because he'd cut it out of himself if he could.

Tony ran. He left JARVIS in the quiet dark of the lab, ignored the tinny voice calling out 'sir?' and went to find something, _anything_ , that would make the yawning black at the back of his head go away.

Alcohol didn't work, and the first time he picked up the phone, he couldn't breathe enough to speak.

Jarvis' rooms were tidy, 'course they were, and most of his stuff was still there; his little girl, older than Tony by thirty years, would be packing up in a few days.

And there was the watch. On a little velvet cushion, where Jarvis could have seen it from his bed, propped up so the face showed.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

Tony'd never remember much of the rest, but he'd crushed himself into the corner between the dresser and the window, and held the watch up to his ear.

He passed out like that, probably. At least, thats what the butler who found him had said. All Tony could remember was someone trying to take the watch away, and the way he came unmoored once the ticking was gone.

It'd come back after that, and he'd kept it, pressed against his ear until his whole head ached with the force.

He slept again, passed out: semantics, at that point. Woke up in bed, ticking muffled by distance, but still there on the edge of hearing.

It had taken _weeks_ for the last of the springs wind to run out, and Tony listened to every tick. When it finally stopped, after a long, quiet afternoon of trying to pull his company back under him, trying to remember to pull air into his lungs, and let it out again, one eye on the watch as the ticks slowed to a crawl...

And then that was it.

Jarvis was dead.

 

There were other times, horrible moments in Tony's life, where he needed something to hold him down, to keep him from flying off the handle or, later, into the bottle.

He'd put a few turns on the spring, limiting himself to just one winding, and _ticktickticktick--_

It kept him sane through Rumiko, then Happy's death, those few weeks when the grief was too much for him to handle alone, but there was no one there to help.

And then, Steve died and he needed it, but couldn't bear to touch it. Civil war, friends fighting friends. Wife fighting husband. _Damnit Reed, why didn't we see this coming sooner?_

Steve's death was like the knock that crystalises a supersaturated solution, and _finally_ the American people stopped baying for blood. Started looking twice at the politicians who had lead them to that dark moment. Tony had lost the war, by _winning_. 

Now, with Norman Osborn in the other room, waiting for Tony to hand over the SHRA database, that victory was under threat. He'd betrayed Steve to keep this data out of the nebulous hands of government, Steve had _died_ because of this moment, and he isn’t about to fuck it up.

The dummy database should throw up requests for warrants if Norman tries to access it, and even if he could get his hands on an active investigation code that would authorise the decryption, the data won't appear unless Tony sends it specifically; the database is in his head now, and unless Osborn plays by the rules, there's no way Tony is going to release any information.

Osborn isnt going to play by the rules.

Tony has maybe half an hour after this meeting before Osborn's cyber team find out that the hardrives that are supposed to contain the database are as good as empty, the file sizes fake.  He's going to have to move quickly.

 

XXXXXXX

 

It had gone about as well as he predicted. Only good thing about Osborn was his predictability. Fucking second rate political supervillans; gone were the days when you could punch them in the face and drop them on the Raft to forget about. Osborn was running the Raft, after all these days.

Tony only had one stop to make before he set off on his whirlwind tour of his Armories, and even that was pushing it if he wanted to make his date with the reformatting device. But, he couldn't do this alone, even though he didn't deserve the comfort after what he had let Skull do to Steve.

He makes twenty seven and a quarter turns; as much as the spring can hold.

It'll last maybe... eight weeks? It's a quality pocket watch, well maintained during those dark hours after it stops. Tony tucks it in his pocket, clipping the chain through his belt loop to make absolutely sure that it'll stay with him when he armors up.

As he flies away, the armors destruct. Starburst and Romeo are the biggest bangs; his favorite secondaries. He can rebuild, as he is now, but soon, there won't be enough of him left to work a microwave, then, to hold a pen, or a conversation.

The concept is paralyzing, and its the ticking on the watch, picked up by the sensors in his suit, that keeps him going, that turns the thrusters up to mach 2.

He's got a date.

 

XXXXXXXXX

 

By the time he meets Osborn in the desert, he doesn't remember who the watch belongs to. It feels good that he can't remember; he knows that that was The Plan. But the rest of it, he can't hold on to.

Red dust blows in his face, and his head hurts, and he can't fight anymore; he doesn't know how. He grips the watch so hard, he's leaving impressions on his skin, and presses it to his forehead, eyes closed; its almost stopped, should he wind it? No... there was something... but it's stopping, and he doesn't want to die, he should wind it...

But he can't remember how, and the big hand is pointing down, shivering, and then it stops.

Someone is yelling, but he can't understand the words, and then his head hurts _more._

_ticktickti-- ~~\-------------------~~_

 

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 

When he wakes up, he's got the watch in his hand, held there by Pepper's fingers, and he _can't remember what happened._

_"Who died?!_ What happened? Steve? _STEVE!?!"_ He sobs and screams, and holds the silver to his chest, because she doesn’t tell him he’s wrong, and the watch has already stopped and he _doesn’t remember._

 


End file.
